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When Emu first met Rui, he didn’t laugh very often.
It was something she noticed almost immediately—not because he was cold, or unkind, but because his expressions were so carefully measured. While Tsukasa’s emotions burst outward in grand gestures and Nene’s reactions flickered plainly across her face, Rui seemed to keep everything neatly tucked away behind calm eyes and a composed posture.
He did laugh, sometimes.
A quiet chuckle would slip out when he was in the middle of explaining an idea that was just a little too dangerous, his lips curving as if he already knew Tsukasa and Nene would protest the moment he finished speaking. Those laughs carried mischief in them—soft, clever, and faintly ominous. They made Emu tilt her head and giggle nervously, unsure whether she should be excited or worried.
Then there were his smiles. They were rare enough that Emu remembered every single one.
They appeared when an experiment succeeded after countless failures, or when a performance came together exactly as he had imagined. His shoulders would relax slightly, tension easing from his frame, and the smallest smile would touch his lips—subtle, fleeting, almost private. If you blinked, you might miss it.
Most of the time, though, Rui was serious.
He spoke evenly, thoughtfully. His gaze always seemed to be analyzing something—lights, angles, timing, people. When others grew loud or chaotic, he remained steady, like the quiet center of a storm. Standing beside him felt different from standing beside anyone else; there was a weight to his presence, not heavy in a bad way, but deliberate. Intentional.
Emu didn’t dislike serious Rui. Actually… she thought he was really cool.
Cool people were awesome, and Rui fit that perfectly—his long coat fluttering when he walked, his strange brilliance, the way he could build wonders out of scraps and imagination alone. Watching him work made her eyes sparkle. She admired how deeply he cared about creating something meaningful, even if he didn’t always say it out loud.
But still, sometimes, when Emu bounced in place backstage or waited for rehearsal to start, she’d glance over at him and feel something small and uncertain stir in her chest.
Rui often looked tired. Not sleepy—just… .worn, in a quiet way. As if he carried thoughts heavier than he ever shared. While everyone else laughed freely, his reactions stayed restrained, controlled, like he was holding himself back without even realizing it.
And Emu found herself wondering. Does he know how fun laughing can be? Does he let himself feel it?
She wanted to hear him laugh—not because she thought he was unhappy, but because she believed there was something bright hidden behind that calm exterior. Something warm. Something that deserved to be seen.
As someone who wanted to bring smiles to everyone, Emu couldn’t ignore that feeling once it settled in her heart.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic like most of her thoughts. It was gentle, persistent—like a promise she made without saying it aloud.
So she decided: if Rui didn’t laugh very often, she would try to give him a reason. Not by forcing it, not by dragging it out of him, just by being herself. By inviting him into moments of joy, silliness, and warmth until, maybe one day, his laughter would come naturally.
Even if it was brief. Even if it surprised him.
Even if it only happened once.
Because if she could make Rui laugh—truly laugh—then that smile would be something precious.
And Emu treasured precious things more than anything.
~
Now that Emu and Rui were dating, some things had changed.
Not in any dramatic way. Rui was still thoughtful and composed, still spoke carefully and thought even more carefully. Emu was still bright and energetic, her emotions spilling out faster than she could ever contain them. But now there was something new between them — a warmth that lingered in glances held a second longer than necessary, in hands brushing until they naturally intertwined.
And with that warmth came a small, secret wish Emu carried with her.
She loved Rui exactly as he was. His seriousness, his intelligence, the way he could look at the world and see possibilities no one else noticed. She loved his quiet smiles, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the gentle patience in his voice when he listened.
But she still wanted to hear him laugh.
A real laugh. One that wasn’t careful or restrained. One that came from joy instead of intention.
So when they planned a date together — nothing fancy, just an afternoon out — Emu made a decision. Not a loud one. Not even one she admitted to herself out loud.
She would try.
The day was warm but not overwhelming, the kind where sunlight rested gently on everything it touched. They walked side by side through the shopping street, their hands linked. Rui’s grip was relaxed but steady, thumb occasionally brushing the back of her hand in a way that made her heart skip every time.
Emu glanced at him often. He looked peaceful today. His coat swayed slightly as he walked, hair catching the light.
When he noticed her staring, he tilted his head. “Is something the matter?”
“Nope!” she said instantly, smiling. “Just… date things!”
He smiled at that — small, fond — and her chest fluttered.
Okay. First attempt.
They passed a store window filled with decorative masks. Emu stopped abruptly, pointing.
“Rui-kun! That one looks like you if you were a mysterious villain!”
He examined it seriously. Far too seriously.
“…I believe I would choose something with better peripheral vision,” he replied. “A villain must always be aware of their surroundings.”
Emu burst into giggles.
He smiled again. Warm. Amused.
Still no laugh.
That’s okay, she told herself. Plenty of time!
Later, they stopped at a café. While Rui waited at the counter, Emu practiced faces in the reflection of the glass — exaggerated frowns, crossed eyes, puffed cheeks. When he returned, she struck a dramatic pose.
“I am a statue!” she declared. “You must admire me respectfully!”
He paused, clearly processing this. “…May I ask what material this statue is made of?” he asked.
“Pure wonderhoy!”
“…Remarkable,” he said, smiling into his cup.
Close. So close.
They talked while they ate — about upcoming rehearsals, about an idea Rui had for a new stage mechanism, about a song Emu had stuck in her head all week. She listened intently as he spoke, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. Whenever she reacted excitedly, his eyes softened in that way that made her feel like she was the only person in the room.
At one point, she pretended her straw was a microphone and dramatically sang two off-key lines before stopping.
Rui gently took the straw from her hand. “For the safety of the audience,” he said solemnly, “I believe this performance must be postponed.”
She laughed so hard she nearly knocked her drink over.
He smiled. Again.
Still no laugh.
A tiny knot formed in her chest — not sadness, exactly. Just a quiet wondering. Was she trying too hard? Was this something she couldn’t make happen?
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she took his hand again when they left, swinging their arms lightly as they walked toward the park. The afternoon faded into evening, the sky softening into warm oranges and pale purple.
They sat together on a bench beneath the streetlights. The world felt calmer here — distant voices, the hum of traffic far away, leaves rustling in the breeze.
Emu kicked her feet gently, humming. She felt content. Even without the laugh, the date had been wonderful. Rui being there was enough.
Then something small happened.
A pigeon landed directly in front of them.
It stared at Rui.
Rui stared back.
They remained like that for several long seconds, locked in what felt like a very serious standoff.
The pigeon puffed itself up, took two proud steps forward—
—and promptly tripped over its own feet.
It flailed, feathers everywhere, then righted itself and strutted off as if nothing embarrassing had occurred.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Rui made a sound Emu had never heard before.
A real laugh.
It slipped out of him without warning — soft but genuine, surprised and warm. It wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakable, carrying a brightness that made his shoulders loosen and his posture relax.
He covered his mouth a second too late, eyes widening slightly as if he’d just realized what he’d done.
Emu turned toward him slowly.
She didn’t laugh, she didn’t speak, she just looked at him.
Her expression softened completely, eyes shining, lips curling into the gentlest smile he’d ever seen. For a moment, it was like the whole world had gone quiet just so she could listen to that echo lingering in her chest.
“…Rui-kun,” she said at last, voice warm and sincere, “your laugh is really cute.”
Color bloomed across his cheeks.
“I—ah,” he murmured, averting his gaze slightly. “I didn’t intend to—”
She leaned closer, shoulder bumping his. “I liked it,” she said simply. “A lot.”
He hesitated… then smiled again. This one different. Less guarded. More real.
And as Emu sat there beside him, hands resting close enough that their fingers brushed, she thought that even if she never heard it again— she would treasure that moment forever.
Because it wasn’t something she’d forced. It was something he’d shared.
~
Rui decided to ride the train with Emu.
It wasn’t something he had planned ahead of time. In truth, he rarely planned moments like this — moments that existed outside of rehearsals, stage designs, or carefully calculated outcomes. But as they stood near the station entrance, the evening lights casting long shadows across the pavement, something inside him refused to let the day end so cleanly.
Emu had smiled at him, bright as ever, and told him she’d be heading home.
And yet, throughout the date, Rui had noticed things. Small things, fleeting things, the kind others might overlook.
The way her shoulders drooped for half a second after one of her jokes didn’t quite land. The brief pout she turned away to hide. The way she laughed loudly afterward, as if trying to smooth something over.
He hadn’t said anything then, he never did, but the uncertainty lingered now, pressing uncomfortably against his chest. So he spoke.
“Emu,” he said, before she could take another step. “May I accompany you on the train?”
Her face lit up instantly, as if the question itself was a gift. “Really? Yay! Of course!”
That reaction alone eased him slightly — but not enough.
They boarded together, the doors sliding shut behind them with a soft chime. The train was calm at this hour, filled with low conversation and the rhythmic hum of motion. Fluorescent lights reflected faintly in the windows, blurring the city into streaks of color as they began to move.
They sat side by side.
Emu swung her legs gently, heels tapping the air. She hummed under her breath — a tune Rui didn’t recognize, though it sounded cheerful enough. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, fingers fidgeting now and then.
Rui sat with his usual careful posture, gaze angled toward the window, but he wasn’t watching the scenery; he was replaying the date. Every word. Every reaction. Every moment where her expression had shifted, just barely.
He told himself he was overanalyzing, like he always did.
Still… he couldn’t ignore the feeling that he’d missed something important.
The train rocked slightly as it turned.
Rui inhaled. "…Emu-kun,” he said at last.
She turned toward him immediately. “Hm?”
His voice came quieter than he intended.
“Did I do something wrong today?”
She blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Huh? No!” she said immediately, shaking her head. “Why would you think that?”
He studied her face — not suspiciously, but carefully, as if looking for confirmation in the spaces between her words.
“During the date,” he explained, “there were brief moments where your expression changed. You attempted to hide it, but… you pouted.”
Her cheeks puffed up reflexively. “I did not—!”
He allowed himself a tiny smile. “You did.”
She paused, realizing he was serious.
Rui looked genuinely concerned now.
“I am aware that I struggle with social cues,” he said quietly. “If I said something insensitive, or failed to respond appropriately, I wished to know. I was uncertain whether you were enjoying yourself… or merely pretending for my sake.”
His fingers curled faintly against his coat sleeve.
“I did not wish to assume.”
The train rattled beneath them, filling the silence he left behind.
Emu stared at him — not offended, not upset, just surprised by how earnestly he’d been worrying.
“…Rui-kun,” she said softly.
He looked up.
“I was enjoying the date. A lot, actually! You were super fun, Rui!” she said right away. “Really! I promise.”
Something in his shoulders eased — just a little. “Then… the pouting?”
She hesitated. Her smile returned, smaller this time. Sheepish.
“…Okay~,” she admitted. “I guess I should tell you.”
She leaned back against the seat, eyes drifting toward the ceiling lights as if searching for the right words. “I guess I was trying really hard to make something happen,” she said. “And when it didn’t, I felt a teensy bit frustrated.”
His brow furrowed. “Make… what happen?”
She turned back toward him, eyes bright but honest.
“I was trying to make you laugh.”
He froze. “…Pardon?”
“I mean like—really laugh,” she clarified quickly, waving her hands. “Not your little ‘hehe I’m about to cause problems’ laugh. And not the tiny smiles you do when something works. I wanted to hear your real one!”
She gestured animatedly as she spoke, though her voice remained gentle.
“I know you smile a lot with me — and I love your smiles, okay? I really do. But I’ve always wondered what your real laugh sounded like. And since we’re dating now, I thought… maybe I could be the one to hear it.”
Her hands folded together again. “So I tried being extra silly, and dramatic, and goofy. And when you kept smiling instead, I kinda thought, ‘Ahhh, I’m almost there!’ and then—well.”
She puffed her cheeks again, embarrassed. “I guess my face gave me away.”
Rui stared at her. Not because he was upset, but because he didn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through his chest.
“You wished to hear my laughter,” he said slowly, as if testing the words.
“Mm-hm!”
“And when you did not, you felt disappointed… yet chose not to tell me.”
“Well, yeah,” she said easily. “But it’s not your fault! You don’t owe me a laugh or anything. I just—wanted to see it.”
The train began to slow, lights flickering slightly as they passed another station.
Rui looked down at his reflection in the glass. “I did laugh, though,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped up. “You did! At the pigeon!”
“…Yes,” he replied. “I had not intended to. It occurred before I could prevent it.”
She giggled. “I’m really glad I got to hear it.”
He hesitated — then spoke again, voice lower. “When you smiled afterward,” he admitted, “I felt… unusually at ease. As though something I normally guard had been received kindly.”
She softened immediately. “That’s because it was,” she said. “It was really precious.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The train slowed further.
When it finally stopped, Emu stood and turned toward him, smiling brightly once more — but now he understood what lay beneath it.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Please travel safely.”
As the doors closed and the train pulled away, Rui remained seated, fingers resting where her sleeve had brushed his.
He realized then that laughter, for him, wasn’t something that could be summoned.
But with Emu… it didn’t feel like something he had to protect anymore.